


Big Friend

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [18]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bombs, Darkness, Exhaustion, Fear Play, Fluff and Humor, Good Friends, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Mid-Canon, Nuclear Weapons, Overworking, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Protectiveness, Threats of Violence, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe and Sunstreaker play a slightly cruel prank on the wrong people at the wrong time, but the victims don't seem to be retaliating. Have they actually gotten away with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one
> 
> One - the first Minibot to agree to join the proposer's pace
> 
>  
> 
> The ex-Constructicon Hauler is mentioned briefly in the beginning of the story and just to let you know: he is NOT Long Haul "turned good", he was on the Constructicon team before Long Haul and then defected after the rest of the team was turned against him.

“It’s been a long day,” Brawn sighed, running one hand down his face and the other down his One’s arm. “C’mon, we need to hit the berthroom.”

“Just let me stay here!” Huffer whined, holding onto the table where the Minibots usually had their energon, which he had previously been using as a makeshift pillow.

“You’ll regret it and I don’t want to hear you complaining about it tomorrow,” Brawn told him sternly, slipping arms around his chassis from behind and dragging him off the bench. “Use your own two feet.”

Groaning, Huffer obeyed, trudging toward the door with Brawn still half-supporting him. It _had_ been a long day; one of Wheeljack’s inventions, which could have caused an explosion akin to a small nuclear reactor, had destabilized. Of course the destabilization had happened when Wheeljack was on a mission, out of comm. link range, so they had called on Huffer to try disarming the bomb threat. Despite the usual ‘one mech downrange’ rule, Brawn had gone along to at least attempt to shield his pace-mate from the thing if it blew. Their friend Hauler had gone as well, to keep out anxious onlookers and to advise where he could from his ex-Constructicon standpoint.

Immediately after the bomb had been defused, Optimus had called. The mission team had withdrawn back into comm. range to request reinforcements. He asked for the _entire_ Minibot team and there certainly wasn’t a chance to refuse if it was that urgent.

After the hard-earned victory in battle and return to base, they’d undergone rigorous repairs and were ordered to describe to Wheeljack _every detail_ of what they had done while dismantling his machine. Twice. And then Prowl asked for an official report on the course of the fight.

Needless to say, Brawn and Huffer were exhausted, which didn’t happen often but when it did it came in full force. The rest of the pace knew not to mess with them.

“Are you gonna use the wash-racks when we get there?” Huffer questioned wearily.

“No, and you aren’t either. I don’t trust your awareness right now. You’d probably end up falling and offlining yourself,” Brawn replied, rewarded with a half-sparked shove as the rec room doors opened.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Brawn’s prediction was astonishingly proven true—Huffer staggered over something thin and unseen, flailing his arms to catch himself. Brawn did him a favor and yanked him back upright, only for a heap of foreign goop to unload itself on them.

A tripwire. Huffer had stumbled over a tripwire.

The engineer’s vents hitched once, then twice, and Brawn steeled himself for the audial-piercing shriek. It didn’t come. Instead it was a low, long keen of angst, its owner sagging to the floor in a soupy puddle and leaning miserably against the doorframe.

Brawn flung stringy sludge from his hands and then gingerly pressed his fingers into his burning optics. Once he’d dug the disgusting concoction out of them, he could see a data pad had fallen among the slop on the floor. There were words in block letters, big enough that he didn’t even need to pick it up to read:

I THINK YOU ALREADY KNOW WHO’S BEHIND THIS.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, WITH LOVE! :)

Slamming his foot on the pad with such force that it split into four pieces, Brawn let loose a wordless howl which brought almost everyone in the ship bolting out of recharge.

—

Sideswipe quickly hid a snicker behind his hand as Brawn and Huffer stormed into the rec room the next day—rather, Brawn stormed and Huffer scurried in behind him, holding onto his arm and looking wildly around as though expecting an attack at any moment.

“Looks like they got most of it off,” Sunstreaker remarked. “Though I expect a few seeds are still in their shoulder joints.”

“Where did you even find that many pumpkins anyway, Sunny?” Sideswipe asked incredulously, his optics shining with awe for his talented brother. “And find the time to dig all the innards out for the prank?”

Sunstreaker smiled thinly and knit his fingers together under his chin. “I have my secrets, Sides.” Lifting his voice, he called condescendingly, “Huffer, I think you missed a bit on your wind deflector!”

Huffer instinctively glanced down but Brawn clutched at his arm, stopping him in his tracks. The leader of the Minibots didn’t look at the Twins, simply staring at the wall, vents contracting and expanding very slowly—what the humans called ‘deep, calming breaths’.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing a wash couldn’t fix,” Sunstreaker continued unashamedly. “But do you construction types know what that is?”

“Okay, okay, Sunstreaker,” Jazz cautioned as he abruptly appeared, swinging a leg onto the empty part of the circular bench and resting one elbow on his knee. “You don’t wanna hassle ’em.”

Sunstreaker glanced up at his superior officer, shrugging. “They can’t do much to me.”

Jazz made a noise suspiciously similar to a scoff. “You’d be surprised. Mirage once made the mistake of claiming his superiority while he was standin’ next to Cliffjumper. Raj-baby walked doubled over for the next three days!”

“That’s because Towersmechs don’t know how to fight, Jazz,” Sunstreaker protested. “I do and I don’t see big, bad Brawn doing anything to me. Well, bad, not exactly _big_.”

“Sunny…” Jazz began, slinging an arm over Sunstreaker’s shoulders with a smile which, unbeknownst to the golden mech, was hiding something a bit dangerous. “Lemme tell you a little somethin’. Minibots are small.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“They’re small,” Jazz repeated, his smile vanishing like a radio turned off, tone sharpening. “And bots like you tend to underestimate them. I’ve seen it happen a lot. But they’re made of materials stronger than you are shiny. Brawn over there could take on Prime in a fight. If he wanted to, he might even win; if he had his pace backin’ him up, I’m _sure_ he could. So you better be careful how long you toe the line because they’ll gladly _readjust_ the line, along with your teeth.”

This talk wasn’t normal from the happy-go-lucky, seemingly oblivious Jazz, Sunstreaker noted, squirming a little.

“Why are you making their threats for them?” he muttered, glancing at Sideswipe, whose gaze went back and forth between Sunny and Jazz disconcertedly.

Jazz straightened, preparing to take his leave. “Because strength brings respect from other strong mechs, even makes ’em friends. And Bots who’re as strong as those…they make a lot of big friends.”

—

“That was a little creepy, hearing that from Jazz this morning,” Sideswipe commented nervously. “I don’t think I’ve seen him turn that serious out of battle…like, _ever_.”

Sunstreaker made no comment and Sideswipe huffed, changing the subject. “So we already pranked Brawn and Huffer for Halloween. Is there anyone else you wanna prank? Someone less dangerous?”

Sunstreaker considered, running each hand down the opposite forearm as was his habit when he was thinking. “I had an idea about taking some of the cats from Beachcomber’s room—you’d have to do it because I don’t want my paint scratched—and planting them in places. Maybe in the vents where they would run around. The noise would probably make Red Alert pretty fizzy.”

Chuckling, Sideswipe agreed, “There’s no probably about it. The only problem is, Beachcomber’s a Minibot too. If he found out—”

“He wouldn’t hurt a fly! He’d probably take the fly in and give it a place on his berth,” Sunstreaker complained.

Sideswipe shrugged, shaking his helm. “I know, but what if he sicced Warpath on us? You know, his pace-mate, the _tank_?” Sideswipe startled when he felt someone tap his shoulder, whirling around and bursting out, “We weren’t doing anything!”

Sunstreaker turned as well, ready to repeat the oh-so-innocent phrase, but he and Sideswipe shared an odd look.

“There’s no one there, Sides,” Sunny said slowly, clearly, as though speaking to a sparkling.

“Hey, I felt it,” Sideswipe argued, shoving at his brother. “Someone poked me!” He frowned when Sunstreaker rolled his optics and continued walking, but soon followed suit, not wanting to be left alone in the shadows falling as Red Alert deactivated the hall lights for the night.

As they wound their way through the halls toward their chambers, Sideswipe would stiffen every so often and cast a glance over his shoulder, finding nothing to explain the odd sensation that someone (or some _thing_ , he thought with a shudder) was behind him. Sunstreaker would elbow him as soon as he noticed the motion, telling him to act his age.

“There isn’t anything prowling the _Ark_ , Sideswipe—well, except Prowl, and you know he wouldn’t spend his time poking you when you aren’t looking!”

The way Sunstreaker was speaking to him made Sideswipe feel fairly ridiculous. Hunching his shoulders, he agreed, “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

Sunstreaker nodded approvingly, only to stumble and narrowly catch himself on a doorframe they were passing. At Sideswipe’s questioning look, Sunstreaker reared up with a venomous glare.

“You tripped me!” he accused. “Somehow you grabbed my foot and _tripped_ me!”

“Did not,” Sideswipe protested, holding up both hands. “How could I? You saw me, I wasn’t bending down or anything. How could I have grabbed your foot?”

Sunstreaker’s indignant pose unwound, leaving him with a far more uneasy expression. He looked down at his foot, which appeared normal, and then turned around, studying the hallway behind them.

“What was that you were saying?” Sideswipe reminded him softly. “About no one being there, about nothing prowling the _Ark_?”

“Let’s, uh, let’s hurry,” Sunstreaker suggested, taking off at a quick stride. Sideswipe raced after him as more lights continued to flicker and fade into blackness, giving whatever was there—of _course_ there was something there—the cover of night.

The brothers scurried through twists and turns, unsure if they were actually still on the path to their berthroom but not really caring, just wanting to outrun the blackening lights and whatever might be chasing them. All at once the entire row of lights in their hallway shut down, leaving them in blackness only cut through by the light of their wide optics.

 _~:This really shouldn’t be as scary as it is,:~_ Sideswipe whispered through their bond, clearly against speaking aloud. _~:Do you think it’s Mirage? He can turn invisible.:~_

 _~:He wouldn’t concern himself with a prank unless something had happened to_ him _, Sideswipe,:~_ Sunstreaker replied from his end. _~:He’s said so before!:~_

Sideswipe was considering how to reply when he felt something clamp tightly around his ankles. Upended, landing hard on the floor, he impulsively let loose a screech of fear.

“Sideswipe!” Sunstreaker shouted in alarm, lashing out blindly and stepping painfully on Sideswipe’s hand. Sideswipe seized his brother’s foot in an attempt to root himself, only to be kicked at by the other foot, as Sunstreaker must have believed _he_ was the attacker.

“Sunny! _Help me-e-e!_ ” Sideswipe howled as he was dragged back the way they had come. Mewling, he thrashed and kicked at the creature, but nothing struck and it held on, its grip tightening even further, denting him. Vaguely he could hear Sunstreaker blundering around, calling for him in a panic, and Sideswipe was horrified to feel one of the hands release his right ankle, _crawl up his leg_ and over his abdomen, and take flight before he could smack at it.

It was going after Sunny.

—

Sunstreaker stumbled over his own feet, hands passing over each doorframe in a blind attempt to orient himself, calling in rising tones, “Sides?! _Sideswipe!_ Where are you?!”

A faint shout echoed back to him: “Sunny! It’s coming!”

“What?! What is?!”

_“It’s coming after yo-o-ou!”_

Adrenaline surged through him, strengthened by his fear and by Sideswipe’s shrieked warning. Pulling his blaster, he aimed as best he could, forced to support the weapon with both hands as he turned in every direction.

“Sideswipe?!” he called again helplessly, his half of their spark shuddering when there was no answer. He repeated the cry several more times with the same result—or _lack_ of result—readjusting his hold on his gun. Why was it so heavy?

Oh. Slag.

Going deadly still, he stared into the black where he knew his blaster to be. Ever so slowly, he flipped his optics to night-vision.

A _hand_ was poised on top of his blaster, fingers curling over it just inches from his own. The fingers poised and sprang, lunging at his face. Howling, he threw the blaster and batted the hand, knocking it against the hallway wall. At least that’s what it sounded like.

 _Where is it, where is it, where is it, where is it!?_ The panic rang through Sunstreaker’s processor over and over as he lifted his feet as high up from the ground as he could, trying not to let the hand seize him.

He needed to sound an alarm, he needed to wake someone, he needed to—to—to find his brother! What had the disturbing thing done to his brother?

Before he could even wonder if he should attempt asking, he felt the hand adhere itself to his back, clinging to him even as he spun round and round, dizzying himself in a desperate effort to remove it.

“Stop! Stop!” he wailed as it scurried up his backstrut, latching onto the back of his neck. It was trying to strangle him!

“That’s exactly what I was going to tell you.”

The hiss caused Sunstreaker to whirl around, badly stifling a scream rising from the pit of his stomach. It was then that he latched onto a narrowed pair of optics in the dark, clearly belonging to another Cybertronian and not some creature.

“Wh-What?” Sunstreaker asked dumbly, hoarsely.

“Stop,” the other Cybertronian echoed, his vocals still a mere whisper but starting to form a growl. “The Minibots are my friends. I know they taught you the hard way not to tease them about their size, but pranking them like that, right then?” The hand squeezed abruptly, causing Sunstreaker to wince as it reminded him of its presence. “You ought to have appreciated their work. They saved the lives of everyone in the ship from the reactor. They saved _your_ afts in particular out on the battlefield. They’d had a hard day. You should have left them alone.”

Sunstreaker swallowed with difficulty, questioning, “ _This_ …was because of what we did?”

“What else did you think it was?” The tone turned slightly condescending as it quoted, “‘Something prowling the _Ark’_?” The hand eased its grip and then disconnected, somehow floating long enough to rap Sunstreaker sharply on the back of the helm. “Leave them alone. And pass the message on to your brother.”

“My brother,” Sunstreaker gasped. “Sideswipe—where is he?!”

A series of groans came from somewhere behind him, accented by a scraping sound as Sideswipe’s frame was lugged across the floor by the floating hand’s partner. Scrambling upright as soon as the second hand released his foot, Sideswipe latched onto Sunstreaker’s arm, shaking.

Whirring, the hands floated through the air, reattaching themselves to the ends of the strange Bot’s arms.

“How did you do that?” Sideswipe croaked.

“Remote control. It’s how I always do it,” the other mech replied, flipping on a flashlight and shining it underneath his face, revealing the savage grin worthy only of a Constructicon frame. Or an _ex_ -Constructicon.

Hauler.

**Author's Note:**

> To explain a bit further, in Hauler's bio, it is said that he can detach his hands and remotely control them if he needs to reach high places or something when he's building...or if he needs to scare a couple o' pranksters away from his buddies ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! Please comment and tell me what you thought; I'd love to hear from you! Happy Halloweeeen! >:D


End file.
